Sara of Wild and Saber of Heart
by Watashi-wa-inori-tsuzukeru
Summary: The story of one Hunter and her partner as they grow, from sprightly greenhorns of Teldrassil to leaders in the Alliance armies and legendary figures among their people, and how their bond becomes ever stronger throughout. More later. T for now, may be M.
1. Preface

**A/N: I'll put the author's note here so you can have the full impact at the end. Just to clarify, this is a fic based on one of my chacacters from the MMORPG World Of Warcraft, and is the stroy that at some point formed in my head as I played on her. Should this get any veiws at all, I'll continue it and give more info in chapter one. This is sort of a preface. Please enjoy, and thank you.  
P.S. I was listening to 'Invincible' and then 'The Temple of the Moon' from the WoW soundtrack as I wrote; I recommend it.**

* * *

I suppose I'd never given much thought as to how I would die. It wasn't so much that I was so focused on living life to the fullest or some such that I ignored that being known as "death", as the "end".  
No, it was more so that the presence of "death" was always so close, so tangible, that it became something that you're so used to that it fades, becomes a part of the backdrop. "Death" just had so many possibilities in our world. If I stop for a moment, just one, and think '_How may I die?_', then a hundred options would flit through my mind in that small space of time.

I could be killed by one of the millions of proud beasts that roamed the land, ripped and torn and sundered by their fangs, beaks, or claws. I could be razed by dragon's breath, burnt to ashes in demonic fire. I could be broken by some giant's fist, crushed like an ant under some machine's heel. I could be lost to the elementals' might, or snared in the simplest of a humanoid's trap. I could die of an arrow in my back; a well-placed axe-swing that took my head; a poisoned dagger in the ribs; a burning spell from on high to sear my soul; after all, we can kill each other too.

There are more pathetic ways of course; drowning, falling from great heights, attempting to defeat some being so much stronger than you it's beyond foolish.

In general however, the greatest harbinger of oblivion is that thing that is born of truth's own "death". That thing that has been carved into our land by blood and bones, ashes and tears, screams and spell-work. That thing which can be called neither good nor evil, from which is drawn both pain and triumph. That thing which pulls at the hearts and minds of all, beckoning them, forcing them, to acknowledge it, to know it. Become it.

_That _is our world.

A World…Of War.

And in war, people die. There, on some battlefield, one of so many naming it would be pointless, I could die a nameless death, end up a nameless corpse, an unknown "comrade" that died in "service".  
I could die suddenly, overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers, or I could die slowly, in a cruelly even duel in which the other was victor. I could die even after the fight was won, bleeding out on that sanguine ground, writhing in mortal agony from some dark curse, feeling some poison sap my strength.

So, so many ways for it to end. And all these in just that moment. So why then, would I ever think of _'How?'_ of _'When?'_ or _'Where?' _or even _'Why?'_. It would be so pointless; I don't need to know. I don't want to know. I don't care. It's that simple. Indifference. That is my answer.

Thinking on how I would die…Thinking of the "end"…That would leave no room for the "beginning". Both are so vast, I don't think I can ponder each. So I'll chose one, the one that's much more of a risk, much more evanescent. An "ending" is definite, unavoidable, inescapable. It is the "beginning" that must be sought after, that is with such great difficulty obtained. I must choose to risk, because the greatest risk there is in this life is to risk nothing.

Still…looking back, I really never did, in the collection of all those moments, wonder if _this _was how I'd perish. In all honesty, I'm not indifferent anymore. I can think that this is a good death, a good way to "end", even though it means sacrificing all those precious "beginnings" I'd been able to grasp in my life.

Well, no, that's not right. Those "beginnings" will not die with me. They will continue to be, because they are strong, because they must. It is only that person, that being, that entity known as "me" that is departing.

…The worst part is, that for those very reasons, because of that indifference I've lost, this hurts.  
I don't want to die, to end. I want to live. I want, with every iota of "me", to be by _his _side. To stand up and be _their _leader. To call out and be _someone. _

I truly…want to stay.

But it's in _his _place that I'm going, so despite this pain, I'll go freely. I'll lie, and say 'It's okay, you can let me.'

So I'll go now…

Goodbye everyone.

…Goodbye…Saber.

_I'll miss you. _


	2. Chapter 1: With This Day

**A/N: Okay! Well, this got a couple Alerts and a reveiw in just its first day of life, so I figure I may as well continue! Besides, this sorta just wrote itself today.  
Alright...there were some points I wanted to address; for one, updating isn't going to be on-time or schedueled-rather, updates will be sporadic and come as they may. I do however, promise not to take super long in between them. I can also promise that this will be finished-I don't know when, but it will be.  
Secondly, I'm going to try to stick as close to the game as possible, in the sense of lore, timeline, battle interface, etc...but incorperate it as naturally as possible; if anyone has any tips, or any mistakes to point out, feel free, please.  
Furthermore, I may get some of this stuff wrong, but I'm gonna really try to keep it all right! Also note that I'm going to be sticking to Vanilla and BC; WotLK may come in a sequel, should anyone want one.  
Last of all...apologies to anyone who likes Gnomes. For an Ally POV or not, I hate those little midgets; they scare me. So yea. Hehe.**

**Please enjoy! Reveiws feed the soul! Flames will be used to bring Deathwing down upon you~**

* * *

There were quiet moments when I'd often wonder about this path I was on. A path…is something you make for yourself, I suppose. So, when did I start down this winding road of mine? How? Why? That was what I pondered more often than not, should I bother to stop and ponder anything at all.

* * *

My father's name was Carissus Clearsend. He was a Warrior who died in battle before I was born. It may make me a lesser person, feed that more undesirable side of me, but I never felt remorse or sadness over this fact. I…couldn't. The death of a man I'd never known-essential in my life or not-had little effect on me. Still, I mourned, for my mother's sake. She missed her mate greatly, and everything she did bespoke of him, honored some bit of his memory. So, I honored that devotion and cried with her, prayed with her, at her side. My mother's name was Conivera Felwhisper, and she was-is-a Priest. Or more precisely, a Priestess in the Temple of the Moon.

Though I respected that position, and was undeniably faithful to Elune, I could never appreciate the lifestyle. I could never understand spell-work, mana, or anything of the sort, nor did any of it interest me. No, I adored and adhered to the bow, the sword. I lived for the untamable, not for divinity. I belonged in the forest, the hills, under the stars, not inside the temples. Mother once told me I had no first words, just a first growl. She didn't laugh, as she was completely serious about the fact, but she did smile fondly at the memory.

* * *

My conviction was reaffirmed during what I believe to be a _very much_ fateful event.

One dusky evening in the late summer, some weeks after the end of the Midsummer Fire Festival to be exact, I was sent by mother to bring a healing tonic-made with herbs mother identified as Peacebloom and Silverleaf-to a visiting researcher by the name of Donny Frizzlecog. I remember thinking it was the oddest name I'd ever heard, which was awfully ignorant of me, since I'd never even left Shaodwglen.

According to mother, the, in her opinion, "fool" had gotten the bright idea into his head to ingest some foul brew made from the local Felcones and a few Timberling Sprouts. Apparently, it hadn't ended well.

My original reaction to the gnome-which was what he proudly proclaimed himself to be-was shocked, amazed amusement. I was a mere seven years old at the time, and the man-for he had fumed that he was 'over a hundred years old, thank you very much'-was only as tall as my waist. Needless to say, after blinking owlishly several times, I fell to the floor laughing, rolling onto my side in the crisp foliage, my sides aching. Mr. Fizzlecog did not seem to like me much after that.

Mother tried to scold me when I returned home, but gave up after several failed attempts at suppressing a wolfishly amused grin. She admitted to having a similar reaction the first time she'd ever seen a dwarf-which were explained to be slightly taller, well-muscled creatures-before he promptly smacked her over the head with a rather meaty fist. After seeing _that _my grandmother-a wise old druid named Jerinya Grasswing-transformed into a bird of some sort, carried the dwarf off, and calmly threw him off of Ironforge. I assumed this 'Ironforge' was fairly tall, since mother quickly assured me that the dwarf wasn't killed. In fact, grandmother flew down, helped him up, and bought them both a round of Thunderbrew ale. The two ended up becoming close friends and drinking buddies. Mother then showed me a painting of grandmother and the dwarf-who was now identified as the 'Uncle' Levarg I'd never met-passed out in a tavern, drunk out of their minds. This too made us laugh, a happy sound.

Three days after that I was once again sent to Donny Fizzlecog's camp, per his request to return the tonic's flask and give me something for my troubles.

I ran there swiftly, without complaint, simply loving the feel of the mossy earth beneath my feet, the wind rushing through my short hair that smelled of life. It was just before I was to turn of the road and venture up the gently sloping hill near the ponds when I saw them, a family of Nightsabers. It was a mother, a dark-stripped, graceful cat, and her two cubs, one a replica of her, one spotted and a dark, blackish blue-gray.

The mother, her tail lashing and fur on end, was currently attempting to yank the spotted cub out of a rather large thorn bush by the scruff of its neck, the baby itself half-roaring, half-mewling in protest, its growls laced with pain.

Something about that cub's cries broke me, a part of me, heart, body, soul, I didn't know, but some part, some part ached, throbbed, bled, _screamed. _

My mind was shouting-if thoughts could shout-at me to rush forward and do everything in my limited power to help the little spotted cat. But instinct would not allow it-I knew, if I just ran over, or for that matter, moved too fast at all, the matriarch would flay me. Rule one of beasts: Stay away from the babies. Mommy will kill you. I had to procede with the utmost caution; if I wasn't very careful and very lucky, I'd be dead.

I made my stride uneven, my footsteps loud, and the mother's head snapped around, fierce, ferocious golden eyes boring into mine, her bared fangs daring me to come any closer. I broke eye contact quickly and blinked slowly a few times, crouching low and tilting my head to the side, so my jugular was fully exposed. I had to be submissive, had to show I wasn't a threat.

The seconds ticked by. Seconds turned to minutes. The cub still cried.

A puff of warm, wet, blood-scented breath ghosted over my neck.

Slowly, so incredibly slowly, I turned my face upward and locked gazes with the proud beast. Her canines grazed my collarbone when she leaned in and sniffed my jaw, opening her mouth to let the scent reach her.

The fang pressed down just a tad more, the right just above my heart, which was racing, though I felt strangely tranquil.

She pulled back, made a sort of jumping-growl sound accompanied by a pained huff, then flicked her long tail and loped back to her children, casting a swift look at me as she did.

With the same exaggerated slowness I stood and moved forward, stopping to let her smell me again every time she growled. This happened four or five times, and then finally, I was next to them. The stripped cub gave a tiny roar that sounded more like disgruntled grumbling. The spotted one stopped struggling and twisted a bit to look up at me with determined, defiant, and definitely intelligent eyes. They were a mossy-amber color, and for some reason, this made my breath hitch.

I glanced at the matriarch one more time and, at what I'm positive was an actual nod, reached into the briars and gently disentangled the cub before pulling him-as I saw it was a 'him'-out. He stared at me for a moment, then stretched out his little neck and thumped his nose-coal black, cool, and damp-against mine. Thanks given, he squirmed out of my grip like a snake and clumsily dashed after his mother and sibling, who had already disappeared into the undergrowth.

Had I known better, I would have sworn I heard a melodic, yet somewhat strangled-as if not used to speaking-voice murmur,

"Thank you."

The event with the Nightsabers had taken much longer than I'd thought, and by the time I made it to Fizzlecog's camp, the sun had nearly set. My night-vision wasn't hampered by the change in lighting-it was just as good as during the day, if not better-so I could clearly see the horror that lay before me.

Donny Fizzlecog was dead, lying twisted and charred in a pool of ash-swirled blood on the ground. His tent was torn and tattered, shreds of the spidersilk canvas scattered about, some lightly smoking. Glass shards and various pools of acrid-smelling liquids glinted and glimmered in the wan moonlight.

Around the corpse, in a poor excuse for a circle, danced blue Grells, chirping and hissing away while they let their Faerie Fire play. One of them paused for a moment, jerking as if eager to be in motion again, and stuck its nose up in the air, inhaling deeply. I froze when beady black eyes zeroed in on my form, crouching in the shadows. A euphoric, jittery scream was torn from its twisted lips, and in an instant, all the little demons had focused on me, sardonic delight a palpable aura around them.

I couldn't move; they bounded forward, the one that had first seen me in the lead. I couldn't even flinch couldn't close my eyes.

A roar ripped through the night from my right, and my head turned toward the sound without my consent.

There, deadly, proud, noble, and looking like ferocity incarnate, the mother Nightsaber stood tall, her dark coat melding into the shadows, yet somehow fracturing the darkness. With another wild roar, she leapt, landing amongst the Grells and, without so much as a moment's pause, began tearing into the stunned creatures. Bright green blood in varying hues spraying the air, and strangled shouts, almost childlike, pierced the air. The demons simply were no match for the claws, teeth, and fury of the matriarch.

I felt something tugging at the hem of my skirt-I hated skirts; I only wore them for mother-and nearly jumped out of my skin; I'd been so engrossed in my rescuer's battle. It was the spotted cub, pulling me away from the scene, his sibling pacing anxiously further off, showing me the way. I didn't think; I just scooped up the cubs and _ran. _

We crashed through the ancient undergrowth, practically flying in my haste. I only came to a stop-and abruptly, at that-when I burst into a clearing and found the mother waiting for us. Her only wound was a burn mark that resembled a star above her left eye, just below the ear. She cocked her head and blinked at me, as if to say 'What are you doing?'.

I honestly didn't know myself. Breathless, I released her cubs, and was surprised when the spotted one scratched at my leg, huffing demandingly. Curious, I reached down, stretching my hand out to him, only to have it bitten very, very hard be not-so-tiny teeth.

I snatched my hand back and pouted a bit, letting the injury bleed as it may. What really caught me off guard was the smug-yes, _smug_-glint in the kit's eyes. With a final head-butt to my shin, he turned and promptly marched back to his mother. Still confused, but eternally grateful, I bowed to the mighty huntress. She merely flickered her ears in response, a pleased purr rumbling deep in her chest. She then turned and, picking up the stripped cub, padded into the forest, letting the sentinel tree's shadows swallow her up.

The spotted cub lingered a moment, just a moment, but long enough for me to make my move; darting in, I nipped the tip of his right ear hard enough to draw blood. He squeaked, and gave me a little snarl, leaping up and launching himself into the undergrowth.

But not before one last look, one last intense gaze, one last view into each other's souls. The message was clear as a crystalline stream: 'You're marked as mine, and I as yours. We'll meet again.'

I smiled, fondly, like mother had. I would be waiting.


	3. Chapter 2: Be Free, Fly Away

There was a time in my life when I'd been very much alone. An outcast perhaps, but not with some piteous story of not belonging or having no friends or of being fearsome and disgusting. I just was. Perhaps because I didn't recognize the aching that pulled me forward, didn't know what it was, what to call it, that it was there at all.

Like…Not knowing the reason for not knowing what the problem was with a situation you felt was _off _but didn't know why. It made my head hurt to think about, so I didn't, but the nagging feeling was always there.

I was lonely, I suppose. Tired of being by myself, perhaps. Sick with this isolation, I'd guess.

Why though…Well…maybe because…

Because…

* * *

A powerful, misty wind kicked up spray as it blasted over the rocky red coasts, showering the somehow achingly dry land for a moment before the droplets evaporated. The wind paid this no mind, continuing on its way over a scorched prairie, flattening the long yellow grasses and slipping over yet more hills, these higher, mountains of varying size. It blew past machines and fallen trees with ease, coasting into a forest hazy with dappled shade and old magic. Twisting northward, the wind gusted into a stretch of pale forest and gray coastline, a stretch that could be considered rather lengthy by some standards but was a mere passing to the untamable air. Quickly, the wind was gone, now ghosting over a flat expanse of clear sea, stirring up what fog lingered, yet to be burned away by the first rays of pale morning light. Eventually, the wind reached one of its more worthy foes, a structure it had never been able to topple. As if with indignation, the wind hit the trunk of the great tree rather abruptly, sharply breezing up and over, into the strange, magical, eternal-though tainted-forest. The wind wound its way over a city-a great city, to its visitors, but again, nothing to the wind-and around ancient sentinel trees, buffeting those it passed as it pleased, taking no notice. By the time the wind reached the shadowy glen that so many called a "beginning", that once fierce gale was little more than a cool, light, life-scented breeze that had so many layers in it that it had become impossible to identify each. That breeze lilted through the shady woods, at some point tousling the bright turquoise bangs of one particular woman, tugging gently at her ponytail, caressing her cool, inky blue skin.

A slight smile played on that woman's-that Night Elf's lips as she watched the spirited zephyr dance about her home, scrunching up the two blue slashes over either softly glowing eye in a comical way.

* * *

I let a small smile curve my lips as I watched the gentle breeze twist and turn through Shadowglen, loving that feel of it brushing my skin and ruffling my hair. My nose twitched when a small leaf ferried on that very air current tickled it. I sneezed once, resisting the urge to chuckle; the little act made me so happy.

An amused sigh from my left, followed by a clicked tongue and the soft swishing of robes signaled Mother's approach. I turned my smile on her, bowing briefly before allowing my eyes to roam over her familiar figure, assessing her condition, as I often times did when she returned from Temple.

Conivera Felwhisper was a lovely woman. Her high cheekbones were heightened by the green cranes descending from either eye, contrasting in an interesting way against her pinkish skin. Her dark jade hair, falling past her shoulders in twin tails, accented her face, and her plum lips curved slightly in an ever-present serene expression. Today she was dressed in pale, white woolen robes with long sleeves and a dipping neckline, plus a thin, brown ribbon belt; comely, neat attire.

My mother was still young by our standards, in her late sixties, but a distinct gleam of wisdom was in her eyes, one that most gained from experience that she held from faith. I found it was that way with many if not all Priests. Perhaps some connection to Elune, to the Light, gave them a certain aged quality, a knowing presence. That did not disqualify them from foolishness, stubbornness, or ignorance however. I knew _that _all too well.

"Daughter." Mother murmured. It seemed like she always murmured.

"Mother."

"I'm home."

"Indeed you are." My words are toneless. She grimaced slightly.

"Do no be like this Abheida. I missed you. Can not you say the same for me?" I grit my teeth—damn name.

"I cannot say I missed _that_ _name_, nor your attempts to persuade me."

"Your name is your name _Abheida_. And your duty is your duty. Stop trying to runaway. Let us have a peaceful reunion." Her tone was still serene, but her eyes had tightened, and it wouldn't be soon before that gentle face broke like it always did when we argued.

"I am _not running._ Just because I'm a Priestess's daughter does not mean I will be a Priestess! You want to keep me locked up in the Temple of the Moon, away from the wild and away from battle, because you think I can't fight, that I'll die like Father did! We have this argument every time you come home, and it hasn't changed a Light-cursed word! And for the last _damned _time, _do_ _not _call me that!" I fumed silently, waiting for that same old response.

"You'll understand one day _Abheida_. But Daughter, that day is not today."* Her face was stony, her voice haughtily cold. I bared my teeth at her. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned.

Then she turned and walked into the house, like always.

A few hours later, I came inside from training, and we ate together. Then Mother unbound my hair, brushed it out, and after a prayer to Elune, went to bed. I tied my hair back again, took up my bow and dagger, went outside, and settled down up in the boughs of my favorite tree, letting my eyes slide closed and holding my bow loosely across my chest.

Like always.

The earlier breeze, now more like a puff of air, was heavy with night-scents and dew.

That breeze was different at least. Not that the wind never blew, but something else, a shifting, like something was about to change permanently, could be felt in my gut. My final waking thought was spent idly pondering that difference, _why _it was a difference at all.

The scar on my right hand pricked.

* * *

I woke before dawn, stretching like a cat and slipping off my perch, falling the few feet to land in a crouch. I straightened up and jogged to the house, in search of breakfast.

I don't particularly enjoy eating with my mother, so whenever she's home, I get my food and go walking. Its not that I hate her that much. It just… There's always that quiet stare that pretty much screams 'I raised you better than this'. Which is a lie. Mom spent more time at The Temple with her fellow Priests than she did with me, and I found the world around me to be the best of companions.

I don't blame her for that, and I don't hate, or even dislike, her for it. She's my mother, and I love her, but we're not the same people. She just doesn't know me. I guess I don't know her either.

I blinked, trying to focus on my search for meat. If there was one thing about my mother that irritated me to no end, it was her vegetarian habits. Not that she was one, but that she tried to force _me _into being one. Every single time she comes home, she takes all the meat, _all _the _damned _meat, and hides it. Doesn't throw it out—that'd be wasteful. Sets it out. For the animals.

Too bad for her I counted myself as one of them.

I followed my nose to the ponds west of the house, and found my precious meet lain out on a piece of linen, most, but not all of it eaten or gnawed on. I growled lightly, snatching up what was left and leaving the gnawed morsels for the scavengers. Glancing around, I proceeded to eat it. Raw, of course. It was the best way to eat meat. Or at least, my favorite way. Although, most animals would probably prefer freshly killed, if not live, but I hadn't tried that yet. I didn't think I ever would for that matter, unless I were truly starving.

Content to simply sit in one of the shorter trees with pale trunks and maroon leaves as I ate, I watched the sky brighten, the sunrise. The birds and the beasts had all woken long ago. Mom would be waking soon, for that matter.

Stuffing the last strip of boar flank into my mouth, I hopped down and darted back into the house. It wasn't hard to find a small wooden bowl, berries, and some sheep's milk. Needless to say, I tossed it all together and set it in front of mom's place at the table along with some fresh bread. A slight creak from her bed sent me bounding through the doorway and into the open forest I so loved.

I wandered through the dusky grounds of Shadowglen that were so familiar to me, feeling nostalgic, remembering various jobs done and incidents that had occurred as one thing or another called them to memory.

There, in Shadowthread cave, where I'd gone to fetch one of the Webwood Spider Eggs, and the resident spiders I'd killed in search of a special Ichor to cure Ivron. Or Shadowglen's moonwell, from which I'd drawn samples. The Thistle Boars and Nightsabers-with much regret, I'd had to thin out their population a bit. The building were most of Shadowglen's inhabitants served, including Ayanna Everstride, the Hunter Trainer, under whom I'd spent a few years. The cobbled path that led out of Shadowglen, out of the only home I'd ever known, that Mother took so very often.

That spot only I seemed to know had any significance…That clearing northwest of where Fizzlecog had set up his camp…That place…Those Nightsabers. _That _spotted one. _Him. _

My body moved without my consent, taking me to that special place. I kneeled down, unconsciously cradling my right hand, scratching lightly at the scarring there. Bite marks. _Teeth _marks. Two of them further apart, and much larger than the others, though all were somewhat small.

Mom had scolded me for not cleaning the wound, bandaging it sooner; she was even more irate when I wouldn't tell her a thing. Fizzlecog's body wasn't found, and neither was any trace of his camp, bloodstains, or scorch marks. Since I'd cleaned all that up.

Fizzlecog I buried at the eastern edge of our little glen; as far from the Grell camps or and Grellkin as possible. The blood and char…I got lucky; it rained that very night, and all was washed away. I sold what was salvageable from the scattered belongings and burned what was left of the tent with a prayer for the Gnome.

…That'd been eleven years ago. Sometimes, I dread grips my heart, and I wonder…

A hand fell on my shoulder.

Snarling, I grabbed the offending arm, and, swinging in a half circle, I _heaved_, sending my mystery attacker flying before I leapt backwards, already starting to panic.

I didn't have my bow, _or _my sword, not even a dagger. Nothing. I had nothing. I needed something, _anything, _to defend myself with. I _needed to stop panicking! I have to focus! _I could fight hand-to-hand.

My mind finally registered that my madly flickering eyes were staring _at my mother. _

…Well hell. I'd freaking _thrown _Mom.

_Mom._

Aforementioned parent groaned, standing up slowly and rubbing her left shoulder delicately, a faint grimace of pain darkening her face. Dammit.

"By the Light of Elune! Mother! Oh I'm so sorry!" My voice was about two octaves higher, and the pleading tone made this seem like days long gone. I was at her side in three strides, my hands fluttering frantically around her. She sighed.

"Calm down Abheida. It's only a bruise. I apologize for startling you-I recognized that lost-in-thought look but I didn't really think it'd be a problem." Another sigh, and then she smiled. "I came to thank you for breakfast…and to talk."

That brought all thought and emotion to a halt. Briefly.

"…What is there to talk about, Mom?" My words were tired sounding. She crumpled a bit, sighing again and sitting in her place. I sat next to her.

"You know…I…" She trailed off when the sun finally broke over the treetops, bathing us in warm light that starkly contrasted with the cool air. The sight captured both our gazes, and we didn't look at each other as she spoke again. "I can't seem to stop myself from worrying, I suppose. I love you very much Abheida, and I don't want to lose you like I did your father; you've always been right about that much."

My eyes widened but I refused to let them leave the skyline.

"But believe me when I say that I know how strong you are, Daughter. Not only in body, but also in heart. You have so much potential. Truly, that heart of yours is your greatest asset, your supreme strength. And _yours _Abheida, is special still. I cannot say how—only you know that—but it is…And believe me when I say you'll understand one day. People are going to come into your life, people that, at some point, you won't be able to live without. And when you lose one of them, then you will know. Know this terrible desire to never see that again, never let your world be damaged again. That is how I feel about _you, _my dearest…"

"Mother…" Is all I can say. Her hands gently clasp either side of my face, turning me to look at her, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on my temples.

"And yet, I have to let you go. I see, just a little, how important it is to you that you be free. So, I'll free you. You are no longer bound to me, Hunter. Take your leave of this place and this heart and carve a path for yourself through this war-torn world. Take up your bow and be freed." She was weeping silently by the end, her calm voice cracking. I too wept, as I swept her into my arms.

"This Hunter is freed of you and your hear then, Priestess. She is free of her bonds, and will now go forth to carve herself her own path." The tears won't stop. Mom nods against my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a very long time, simply embracing, coming to terms with the knowledge that all those arguments had finally come to an end, that something else was beginning. The sun was nearly overhead when we finally pulled apart. Eyes had dried a time ago.

"Stay with me one more night Daughter, and come morn, you may go and never look back. But just for this day, use your freedom to hear this woman's plea."

"Of course I'll stay Mother. For on more night, I choose to be yours." Our tender smiles were mirror images.

* * *

We went back to the house and had lunch, then went walking, visiting all the places there were to visit, talking the whole time about nothing and everything. We stopped by that lodge and talked with Ayanna one more time. Mom bought me a pack and some basic leather armor to wear when I set out. When we got home, we packed my two bags and set them aside. Then we made dinner together; it was fish and vegetables, along with the last of the fresh bread. After eating, Mom requested I demonstrate with my bow for her; she applauded me. Dusk came and went. In the night, we shared a bed, much like we did when I was a child and clung to my mother for warmth and comfort. Mom brushed my hair and told me old legends as I fell asleep. The last thing I heard was her whispering something to me.

And when I awoke the next morning, she was already gone.

I took my bags, strapped on my sword and bow, and left.

By the time the sun rose, I was gone from Shadowglen, from my home, from my Mother. And as of now, I was even shedding my name.

Dawn had already come; it was a new day.


End file.
